


Table For Two

by starkind



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Crack Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, M/M, One Shot, Silly, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Until it isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27701830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: ... or: How to *not* have a blind date
Relationships: Tony Stark & Bruce Wayne, Tony Stark/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 11
Kudos: 70





	Table For Two

There is a slump in Gotham‘s crime level that causes an unwilling hiatus for Batman and his cohorts. This should be a cause of great merriment, seeing their rooftop patrols and fighting crime methods apparently work, but all it promotes is Bruce being even more OCD-ish and anal-retentive than usual. Those are Jason‘s words. Also Jason’s words -and subsequently his grand solution to all of their woes- are as follows:

Getting their dad laid.

The proposal gets debated at great length.

Pros: The boost in mood. Sorely needed. Also, the shift of focus away from them and onto the new date partner. Not even Richard can argue against the benefits of having a little more time for himself. And for Barbara, but that does not concern his brothers or even his father.

Cons: Their dad being their dad. It is not like people aren't already throwing themselves at his feet, but things are complicated and his supposed playboy status and clandestine vigilantism do not help matters. However, as matters stand, his sons are in dire need of a break.

After some back and forth, the four of them decide it seems worth a try. So they stumble upon the ‘blind date at a restaurant’ event series. The application process can be done by anyone, requiring a few stats and some basic info on what and whom the applicant is looking for in a partner.

If things work in everyone’s favor, two people get to enjoy a nice dinner and, hopefully, are a match of sorts. After years of knowing the woes of being exposed to the media due to their father’s status, they register him under a fake account to avoid that “OMGTHAT'SBRUCEWAYNE!?” issue.

Richard and Tim handle most of the application process, fearing Jason‘s sense of humor and Damian‘s lack thereof to immediately spell doom on finding their father a match at all. They do not hear back from the restaurant for two weeks, but then there is an email with a slot for dinner with a potentially-matching candidate.

Perfect!

As for who gets to be the bearer of the (good) news, Tim volunteers, being the least-bothered by his father’s razor-sharp focus. Or maybe it is his middle child syndrome, causing him to try and beg for attention any which way (Damian's words, ergo not representative). Much to their puzzlement, their father does not outright rip their heads off or bench them for their audacity for at least the upcoming three months, but...

...seems kind of intrigued?

Maybe his forced abstinence from Gotham’s underbelly and its rogues has mellowed him out somewhat.

(or he hit his head too hard during his last encounter with Bane, Jason provides unhelpfully)

+

It is a fairly unmemorable Thursday evening when Adam Pierce, supposed investment banker from Chicago, shows up at the designated posh Italian restaurant in New York, wearing an uncommon week’s growth of beard and a fitted, smart-casual outfit in muted colors. He is told he is the first to arrive and can take a seat at the bar and have a drink. So far, so good.

The bartender makes polite small talk with him and reveals that a Howard Potts is going to be his date. Bruce aka Adam inwardly thinks that sounds rather fake but keeps his expression neutral. Also, Howard sounds like someone in his early fifties. Hopefully, the guy is not too old. Just then, the rotating glass doors of the posh restaurant start to turn, catching his attention.

Enter Tony Stark.

The guy whom Bruce had a fateful ONS with years ago.

Bruce nearly drops his ginger mojito mocktail. He manages to secure it on the counter while hoping this is just one of those stupid coincidences and averts his gaze. From the corner of his eyes, he notices Stark speaking to the waiter and, oh no, the waiter points in Bruce’s direction.

The look they give each other is priceless.

Opposed to getting up and leave right away, Bruce remains frozen to his barstool. Stark is quick to put up a deflecting grin and saunter his way.

“Good evening, David.”

That fucker.

Bruce’s poker face remains firmly in place.

“You must be Howard.”

Before the shitshow continues, the waiter tells Stark to also get a drink before their table is going to be ready. Stark plops onto the barstool next to Bruce and orders a Negroni. Shaken and strained with a lemon twist. Bruce does not even bother to hide just what he thinks of this unnecessary extravaganza. Or at least his facial expression does all the talking. It makes Stark laugh into his glass. “Date? More like intimidate.”

Bruce glares on.

Lucky for them, their table is ready by then, and they are led into a cozy area behind a thick velvet curtain. Here, fewer tables and dimmed lights dominate the interior. Stark then goes and cues in all the awkwardness as he bumbles through a courtesy move that is pulling out Bruce's chair.

No one pulls out Bruce’s chair.

No one.

Chalk it up to trust issues.

He bears it with a grinding smile and a mumbled thanks, averting his gaze to fasten it on the menu that is artistically written up on a large chalkboard in the corner. What follows is some superfluous talk about food as their waiter comes by. Bruce is quick to take his pick, but Stark keeps on asking questions about this and that ingredient.

Trying hard not to drum his fingers on the table, Bruce is once again this close to getting up and leave when Stark finally picks a dish and they are being left alone. With a keen interest, Stark sets out to inspect the assortment of bread, butter, and oils and helps himself as he starts talking. “Honestly, the randomness! I mean, what were the chances of you and me-” His casual attitude is the straw that breaks the camel's back.

“What the fuck, Tony?”

Bruce's voice is low and irritable. About time that neon-pink elephant in the room gets addressed. Unfazed, Tony starts buttering a piece of bread from the small wicker basket in their midst. “If I remember correctly, the fuck itself wasn’t too bad, only your flair for dramatics kinda nixed it.” A vein under Bruce's left eye begins to throb. “I had. An. Emergency.” He presses the words out between a far-too-tight jaw.

Popping the buttered morsel into his mouth, Stark points the small bread knife at him. “I had your dick stuffed up my ass and was left without the big O. If that’s not an emergency in itself, I dunno what is.” Bruce forces to uncurl his fist that apparently had balled on its own accord. “Do you always have to have the last word?” Tony blithely blinks doe-like eyes at him; picture-perfect of pretended innocence all wrapped up in insolence.

“Yes? And also, how am I supposed to know you’re finished talking?”

Bruce's fingers, still hurting from making a too-tight fist, grab the napkin from his lap and throw it next to his empty plate. “I’m leaving.” Before he gets to his feet, their waiter approaches them with two plates hidden underneath silver domes. “Here we go, you two lovebirds. Asian-style pan-fried lobster with vegetables for David and crispy-grilled duck confit for Howard. Enjoy.”

Tony thanks him and casts his glowering opposite a look between daring and cocksure. Bruce clenches his teeth. “Thanks.” Unaffected by the tense atmosphere, their waiter picks up Tony’s used bread dish. “Would you like a wine to go with your entrees?”

“Yes.”

“No!”

Charles, as the waiter’s name sign reads, gives a joyous laugh. “Oh, this is going to be a bit of work there with you guys. How about I’ll bring you a wine pairing card and you can decide individually?” Tony casts him a winsome smile and some thumbs-up, and Charles hurries off. Seeing Bruce still sits and seethes at him, Tony picks up his cutlery. “Smells good.” With that, he starts to poke and prod at his duck confit and starts to eat.

After a while, Bruce, too, reaches for his fork and knife. The churning in his stomach may not be solely due to his dating-partner-fail after all. After a couple of minutes of blissful silence, Tony then pauses eating, squints, and points the sharp end of his knife into Bruce's direction. (Bruce is sensing a trend here; one that he chooses not to examine too closely)

“Know what I keep on wondering? How on everything that's holy did you end up agreeing to this?”

“My sons set me up.”

Tony laughs out loud, honest amusement blazing out of big brown eyes.

“Well done them.”

When Bruce makes no move to ask him in return, Tony jovially leaned forward.

“As for me, I was roped into this by Pepper. Pepper Potts – my assistant? Ring any bells?”

Bruce’s murder gaze, once it grazes upward, is brief. His fried lobster turns out to indeed be delicious.

“Has she been there when we were fucking?”

Tony draws back, for once looking slightly incensed.

“...No!?! What the heck, you kinky bastard?!”

At his risen voice, Bruce shushes him, seeing the couple at a nearby table curiously glances their way. “So how would I know who the hell’s your assistant.” Tony shrugs. “Point taken. Okay, so, I messed something up at the last supervisory board meeting and she got back at me with this.”

“I don’t see the point.”

“Me neither. But if I screw up tonight, at least I’d do it under her name, so.”

“Please stop talking.”

+

When their plates are empty and they are each nursing a cup of strong, black espresso, Charles also brings along a small wooden box that, on closer inspection, holds the bill. Bruce instantly reaches for it while reaching for his slim wallet holding only cards and five folded $100 bills.

“I’ll pay.”

That does not seem to resonate well with his dining partner who has also dug out his money clip. Bruce‘s eyes narrow. Money clips are elitist and gaudy and the embodiment of everything wrong with the person sitting across from him. Stark‘s hand latches on to the other side of the box.

“No, I’ll do it.”

In less than ten seconds, a childish tugging war erupts.

“Let go.”

“ _You_ let go.”

“You two seem so familiar with each other. It's almost as if you've already been married for years.”

Charles stands a few feet away with a besotted grin. Tony gives him a wide, winsome smile.

“Only time will tell, eh?"

Bruce’s grin is part-forced, part-desperate.

At least he has managed to score the box from Stark with an unforeseen, quick twisting maneuver. “Let’s split.” Charles looks something between amused and worried. Tony seizes the opportunity before Bruce can lament on his poor choice of words. “He means the bill, of course.” The wink he casts Bruce makes the latter want to hurl the box at his head.

He does nothing of that sort, however. People are already casting their table far too much attention.

In the end, two $100 bills from each billionaire land in the box, thus upping the tip for Charles their waiter to 80 percent. He makes sure to deliver their overcoats to their table in return and utters enthusiastic words about them being a lovely couple and that he has a good feeling about them and please come back but only as a couple and not for another blind date session.

Bruce eventually blanks him out; otherwise, he cannot guarantee for anything.

+

Outside the venue, Bruce takes in a deep breath of fresh air despite being in downtown Manhattan. The streets are populated as usual, but the worst rush hour is long over.

“So, any plans for the rest of this evening?”

Tony’s voice is of the annoying sing-song variety.

Bruce scans their surroundings for a cab. His reticence makes the other man step in front of him, obscuring his line of view on Park Avenue.

“How about a nightcap?”

“No.”

“You’d get to pick which.”

“No.”

A slight crinkle narrows Tony’s eyes. A subtle fiendish yet enticing glint lays in them.

“Pity. I’ve been wondering all night how that scruff of yours would feel on the inside of my thighs.”

Bruce takes a deep breath. One which he exhales forcefully through his nose and mouth soon after.

“Fuck this.”

His fists curls into the back of Tony’s coat and pulls him closer until their lips end up mashed together.

“Sounds like a plan. My place this time-”

It is not a question and Tony’s lips, slightly reddened from the bruising kiss, part in delight.

“- and two orgasms minimum.”

Le Fini  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This fic's unofficial soundtrack just because it was stuck in my head whilst writing:   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IyKfnfAMewc


End file.
